


The Cross Ain't Meant to Harm

by Kamaevis (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Child Abuse, Humanstuck, M/M, Religious Justification of Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 03:55:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/819692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Kamaevis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Okay, so fucking the kid in the bathroom was a mistake, you admit it. You probably shouldn't have done it in the first place. But it's not like you knew that he was tutoring Dave in Biology or that he apparently leads a double life--because this kid in glasses and slacks and suspenders is <em>not</em> the kid you met at the bar. </p><p>You weren't expecting this kid to crash land in your life with more shadows in his eyes and demons at his back than you've seen in all twenty-seven years you've been alive. You weren't expecting that it wouldn't be a one time thing, that this kid would be as important to you as Dave.</p><p>So, really, it's not totally your fault; honestly, how were you to know?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cross Ain't Meant to Harm

He's too young to be here, you're quite sure of it.  
  
Your eyes catch him the moment he breaks away from the crowd and into the strip of empty space in front of the bar. He moves like liquid, his back curving just so as he slides out from between a pair of leering men. He's dressed more modestly than most people here in a blue, unbuttoned flannel with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a black tee-shirt with a faded decal promoting some band you've never heard of and a pair of torn jeans. Even so, the outfit is provocative—the way the tears in the jeans reveal patches of smooth flesh beneath, the dip in the collar of his tee-shirt so you can follow the curve of his neck right down to the shadows of his collar bones. That, along with the dark makeup dusted over his eyelids, assure you that this kid definitely didn't come here with innocent intentions.  
  
He slides up onto one of the barstools, leaning forward with his arms crossed along the smooth surface, back bowed so his ass is nearly hanging off the edge. Another purposeful move, you don't doubt. He's practically a professional, you can tell by the eyes that follow his every move; even yours.  
  
You draw your eyes away and make the drink for the woman who's been waiting while you watched the boy. When you've finished and she smiles at you and take the drink with a thank you, you walk down the bar to serve him.  
  
He doesn't smile when you approach, just tilts his head a little—he's bearing his neck, that's what he's doing—and asks for an apple martini.  
  
“You legal?” You ask. You resist the urge to reach straight for the vodka. His eyes are so fucking blue, and when you look into them, you just want to give him everything he asks for without question.  
  
He blinks, “No.”  
  
Your eyebrow creeps up, “For sex or alcohol.”  
  
There's a pause, he sucks his lower lip between his teeth and chews for a moment before tugging it out with a pop, “Both.”  
  
“Uh huh,” You cross your arms, “What makes you think I'll make you a drink, then?”  
  
“You will,” He says without hesitation.  
  
“And if not?”  
  
“There are plenty of guys here who'd love to buy me a drink.”  
  
“I won't make one for them, either, then.”  
  
“You gonna turn down every man who comes asking?”  
  
He smiles, then. It's a little crooked, tugging up further on the right side. His teeth are straight but the front four are just a little larger. It's endearing, gives him a childish look and makes the stirring in your groin even more guilty. He just admitted to being underage and you're still imagining bending him over and fucking him 'til he can't talk. You opt for making him a drink instead; you'd rather go to jail for supplying a minor with alcohol than for statutory rape.  
He takes the drink from you, and sips it delicately. You don't think about how his full lips look pressed to the rim of the glass. A drop escapes over the lip and he catches it with his tongue then drags the pale pink muscle upwards agonizingly slow.  
  
Your tongue darts out to wet your lips and you're sure he doesn't miss it.  
  
“So,” he says once his tongue is safely behind his lips again. He rolls his wrist and swirls the liquid in the glass before leaning toward you. His eyes are hooded and his smile sly.  
  
“When do you get off work?”  
  
–  
  
You're supposed to be helping Roxy clean the bar, but she'd seen the look in your eye and the kid waiting for you at the end of the counter and she'd rolled her eyes and waved you off.  
  
God bless her.  
  
You don't want to take him home—Dave's there and he wouldn't appreciate it—and you very highly doubt that you'd be welcomed by his parents with open arms. So you're in the bathroom of the bar and he's up on the counter with his legs tight around your waist and his fingers tangled in your hair. His mouth is hot against yours, tongue twisting and curling and vibrating when he groans.  
  
You drag your hands down his back, feel the way his body curves, but before you can catch the end of his shirt to hike it up, he pulls away. His lips are parted and swollen and shiny with spit, his tongue poking out a bit atop his lower teeth.  
  
“Leave it on,” He pants, and you're in no place to deny him that. Instead you grab his hips and pull them against yours, feeling his hardness against your own. You mouth along his neck, dragging spit down the curve of it and you sink your teeth into the juncture where it meets his shoulder. You worry for a moment that he'll not want you to leave a mark, but he just makes a broken sound and tilts his head to give you more access.  
  
Kid likes biting. Awesome.  
  
He wiggles and writhes, grinding his hips against yours and you gasp against his flesh. He's a strange sort of cross between innocence and filth. The way he moves and whines would make you think you were fucking a virgin, but there's a knowledge in it, too. He's doing it on purpose; it's an act because when his tongue curls around yours and his hips roll and grind, you know full well that he's done this before.  
  
“C'mon,” He pants, “C'mon, c'mon, _do something.”_  
  
You pull away from the spot on his neck that you'd been sucking and blow onto the damp skin and he gasps sharply.  
  
“What do you want me to do, baby?”  
  
“Pants down,” He says, “Finger me. Shit. _Please.”_  
  
And wow, yeah, you're totally on board with that. You pull away from his neck and fumble with his jeans. You thank god that you work in such a fancy as fuck place because the counter's wide and he can lay back and lift his hips to give you better access. You tug his jeans down his hips and make a strangled noise when you see the lacy blue panties he's wearing beneath. They're bright against his dark skin, and the bow at their front sits just beneath where his dick is peeking out, hard and leaking. You yank off one of his shoes and pull his jeans down all the way and off one foot so you can pull his feet apart and spread his legs.  
He groans when you touch the lace curved around his hip. You pull the string tight and let it snap back and he whimpers, a sound that makes you shudder. Your fingers slide up the fabric and to his dick, dragging down the length and making him cant his hips up with a quiet moan.  
  
“Please,” His voice is cracked, “Please, god, _please.”_  
  
“Lube?”  
  
He makes a frustrated sound, “Just spit on your fucking finger or something, _fuck.”_  
  
“Or you could.”  
  
You leave one hand pressed against his dick and take the other to hold three fingers near his lips. He looks from them to you with an eyebrow raised.  
  
“You're not getting three fingers in me with no lube.”  
  
“Nah,” You squeeze his dick and his mouth falls open in a silent gasp, “But I think those lips'll look prettier wrapped around three than one.”  
  
You push them inside, and, shit, the kid's like a fucking pornstar with the way he coils his tongue around them and sucks noisily. He rolls his hips into your hand and drools all over your fingers and that shouldn't be sexy but it is, it so fucking is.  
  
Finally, you pull them back and his tongue chases them out of his mouth.  
  
“Good boy,” You murmur as you abandon his dick and instead reach down to tug his panties aside.  
  
“God, are you going to take all y- _fuck.”_  
  
You press your index finger to his hole and twist it in. He keens and throws his head back, lifting his hips to give you better access. It's not an easy fit. The spit barely smooths the way and it takes a lot of wiggling and twisting to get the finger inside. He doesn't mind it, though, making sounds, groans and hiccuping sobs and moving his hips down to speed your way. You don't want to hurt him, though, so you grip his hips to still him.  
  
Finally, your fingers in to the hilt, and he's tight enough that you think you might lose the finger. Your dick aches between your thighs, but you don't mind it being neglected when the kid's putting on such a show. His feet are braced on the counter and he's moaning and his hands find his dick, one hand curling around the shaft and the other gripping at his balls.  
  
Shit, that should be illegal.  
  
Well, more illegal than it already is considering your age.  
  
“Move,” He rasps, “Move, just a little- a little to the- _fuck.”_  
  
His hips quake as your finger curls and his entire body jerks as he peaks with a high pitched wail, ropes of come spurting onto his shirt. He doesn't mind it, though, sagging down onto the counter, twitching and making a little gasping sob when you withdraw your fingers. After taking a moment to catch his breath, he sits up and pushes your shoulder hard enough that you fall back a step.  
  
He slithers down off the counter, movements as liquid as they had been when he spun through the crowd. Then he's on his knees, face flushed and lips parted, panting as he pops the button on your slacks and drags them down to your knees. He groans when his eyes catch the bulge in your boxer-briefs and he leans forward to drag his tongue over the fabric. Your breath catches and you pitch forward, catching yourself on the corner of the counter so you're curved over him. He hooks slender fingers into the waistline of your briefs and pulls them down.  
  
“Fuck,” He breaths, hot against the hard, painfully swollen flesh of your dick, “Fuck, you're pierced. _God.”_  
  
And yeah, you get some pretty mixed reactions to your Jacob's Ladder, and you're pretty fucking glad that his was a good one. He leans forward and licks a path between the balls of your piercings and you groan. He sucks the tip into his mouth, his lips swollen and pink around it and damn, god fucking damn. You let one hand release the counter to tangle in his hair. He swallows you almost all the way down, covering the rest with his hand, his thumb massaging at the base.  
  
“Fuck,” You growl, “Damn, kid.”  
  
He hums, then hollows his cheeks and sucks and you're gone. You groan loud, hips jerking. He swallows what he can before leaning back and looking up at you, eyes dazed, your come smeared on his lips and dribbling down his chin. You take your hand from his hair and catch his chin, thumbing at the spill and wiping it away from his skin.  
  
You notice his hips trembling and a glance at the floor between your feet tells you that he came again. Jesus, this kid's something else.  
  
You let him cool down while you go about cleaning up. You help him redress and he goes into a stall to strip out of his soiled tee-shirt. He returns with it balled up and his flannel buttoned and stuffs it into the trash, which you're definitely going to have to take out later.  
  
“C'mon, let's get you some water. You got a ride home?”  
  
He snorts, following you out of the bathroom with a distinct limp to his gait, “I'm not legal, man, doesn't mean I'm stupid.”  
  
He really didn't have to remind you of that, but you doubt he's going to go reporting you, not with the way he'd enjoyed that scene. You stand next to him at the bar while he sips at a glass of water, enjoying the view—hey, just 'cause you just fucked him doesn't mean you can't keep looking.  
  
“Thanks,” He says quietly when he's finished, handing the water back to you with a little smile that's far more genuine than the last few you'd received from him, “Uh...”  
  
“Dirk,” You say, “Name's Dirk.”  
  
He hums and takes your hand when you offer it.  
  
“Nice to meet you, Dirk,” He says, “You're a good fuck, and a decent guy, too. Maybe I'll see you around.”  
  
He turns and tosses a wink over his shoulder before making his way out, and it's only after he's gone that you realize that he didn't tell you his name.  
  
Whatever. Fucking a minor once is enough; you don't need to make it a habit.  
  
You clean up what little Roxy left for you—the woman's a goddess, you swear—and lock up the bar before heading home, feeling sated and only a little guilty. You take a glance in Dave's room and find him sprawled on his bed with his sheets twisted between his legs, snoring softly, and you shut the door quietly as you leave. At least he's not pulling all nighters and going to school sleep-deprived like he used to.  
  
You go into your own room and strip out of your pants and shirt, flopping onto your bed in your boxers before tugging your shades off and tossing them on the nightstand. It's blazingly hot, so you don't even bother with the blankets, just nestle your head into your pillow and attempt to sleep. Before you can manage, though, your phone chimes with the annoying cat ringtone Roxy had insisted be hers, and you figure she'd done enough for you tonight that you can't ignore her with a good conscience.  
  
You drag your ass back out of bed and fish through your slacks to find your cell phone, unlocking it to read her pester—Pesterchum's an old client, sure, but it was reliable and all of the people you cared about talking to still used it, so who the fuck cares if kids think you're lame.  
  
\-- tipsyGnostalgic [TG] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 03:45 --  
TG: dirkk  
TG: omg dirk was that kid even legal  
TG: he was so cuuuuuute  
TG: you old perv ;)  
TT: Nope, not legal in the slightest.  
TT: Probably around Dave's age, which is actually creepy to think about.  
TG: he wasnt legal and you did him in MY BAR?  
TG: im ashamed of you mr strider  
TT: My sincerest apologies, Ms. Lalonde.  
TG: im just kiddin dummy  
TG: seventeen is close enough to eighteen  
TG: and sixteen is close enough to seventeen  
TG: younger than that and i might have to call the cops myself  
TT: I'd really rather you didn't.  
TT: I'm packin' on enough guilt here as it is.  
TG: i dont see why  
TG: that kid was at LEAST old enough to know whats what  
TG: and if i didnt think he was sober enough to be sexin you up  
TG: i deff would of stepped in  
TT: I know, but like I said, the kid was probably Dave's age, and if some guy my age was mackin' on Dave in the bathroom of a bar I'd be out for blood.  
TG: ehhhh thats true i guess  
TG: idk man the kid was gonna get laid even if you turned him down  
TG: better that dirk “fuck you till you cant remember your name” strider was the one to do it  
TG: ;)  
TT: Thanks, Roxy, I appreciate it.  
TT: Is my sarcasm conveying well?  
TG: crystal clear captain  
TT: Good.  
TT: Now, I'm exhausted and I need to sleep.  
TG: all that fuckin wear you out?  
TT: Jesus Christ, I'm never living this down, am I?  
TG: not until you make up for the half hour i had to spend cleanin up the bar when i coulda been home with callie ;)  
TT: Yeah, yeah.  
TT: I'll talk to you later, alright?  
TG: mmmkay :*  
\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering tipsyGnostalgic [TG] \--  
  
You lock your phone again and crawl back into bed. You put your phone on the nightstand and bury your face into your pillow and try to push the kid out of your mind.  
  
–  
  
That doesn't work, of course, and you're still thinking about him a week and a half later at your day job at Jane's cafe-bakery.  
  
It's a little after three and the traffic into the shop is slow. Jane's on the floor cleaning tables and humming to herself while you're sitting behind the counter, stooped over with your arms stretched out in front of you, bored to tears.  
  
You know it's a bad idea to think about the kid while you're working because, honestly, the last thing you need is to pop a boner at Jane's family-friendly shop—she might actually fire you for that one—but you can't get him out of your mind. And it's weird because no other lay you've had has ever stuck with you like this. Not one. There were a few that you used for jerking off when you didn't feel like going out, but none that plagued you during the daytime hours, none that you couldn't get out of your head.  
  
But Jesus, the kid had been so damned _into_ it. He'd known exactly what he wanted and he wasn't afraid to ask—you'd met adults who tiptoed around what they wanted sexually, but not him. And damn he'd been experienced—how does a kid that age get like that? Was he an underage prostitute taking a break from business to fuck guys for free?  
  
Nah, that's a little farfetched.  
  
And what does it matter, anyway? It's not like you're going to see him again, anyway.  
  
Your phone buzzes in your pocket and you fish it out, ignoring the look Jane shoots you because, c'mon, the place is empty. No one's going to complain to her about the employees not being professional.  
  
It's a text from Dave, which is a little weird. He should be home by now, so there's nothing for him to text you about unless he needs you to grab something from the store, and you _really_ don't want to hazard a trip to the grocery store.  
  
You open it anyway because you're a good fucking brother.  
  
DAVE: yo i had to stay behind at school for a bit so im gonna swing by the shop for some coffee and shit with a friend  
DIRK: Is this a date, lil' man? Because I doubt you want to have your first date with your bro around.  
DAVE: fuck you man hes tutoring me in bio  
DIRK: Uh huh. Whatever, you got cash?  
DAVE: no dude youre paying  
DIRK: Why the fuck should I do that?  
DAVE: because even if you say no to me you wont say no to jane  
DIRK: Well played little brother. See ya soon.  
DAVE: yeah  
  
You shove your phone back in your pocket, “I think Dave's bringing his boyfriend by.”  
  
Jane turns on her heel, a hand on her hip and one eyebrow quirked, “Dirk, last time I checked, you were the one with a hankerin' for the boys, not your brother.”  
  
“Don't those religious nuts say that kids raised by us gays are more likely to be gay?”  
  
Jane snorts, walking up to swat at your nose with the cloth she was using to clean the tables, and you grin your smarmiest grin at her. She flits around the counter to check on the pastries while you slump back down, succumbing to your boredom and waiting for either Dave or a customer to show up. A few minutes pass with nothing, so you heave a sigh and prop yourself up on an elbow to eye Jane where she's counting pastries.  
  
“So, Jane,” You say, and she eyes you with a raised brow, “How are you doin' on the romance front?”  
  
She rolls her eyes, “Still single. I mean, I went on a date with a guy a couple weeks ago, but he ended up telling me to lose a few pounds and stuck me with the bill.”  
  
You make a disgruntled noise and she snorts again.  
  
“Jane,” You say seriously.  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“Jane, come here.”  
  
She sighs and drags her fingers through her hair. She makes a show of her reluctance but she walks over anyway. You twist on the stool so you're facing her and put your hands on her shoulders.  
  
“Jane Crocker,” You say and her eyebrows crawl up her forehead, lips curled into a smile she's trying to smother, “Jane Crocker, I would like to inform you that straight guys are dicks, and were I not a homosexual, I would throw you on this counter and take you in a manly fashion.”  
  
She rolls her eyes and scoffs, “Did you just quote Firefly at me, Mr. Strider?”  
  
“Did you just catch my Firefly reference, Ms. Crocker?”  
  
“God, you two are disgusting. Just get married already.”  
  
You turn, catching Jane around the shoulder and pulling her against your side to face your baby brother. You've got some witty quip on your tongue about how you and Jane are already engaged, and didn't he know? But you know that kid that's walking in behind him. You know that dark hair and those blue eyes, the freckles dusting a slightly upturned nose, the tiniest overbite. Though today, his hair is tidy and he's tucked into a white collared shirt and slacks and a pair of goddamn suspenders. It's like he walked straight out of some fifties movie where he played the nerdy kid who got shoved around by the main cast.  
You can't seem to find words, and no one seems to notice except for Jane, who peels your arm away and shoots you a confused look out of the corner of her eye.  
  
“Yo, Jane,” Dave says, nodding her way.  
  
“Hey, Dave! Who's your friend?”  
  
“Oh yeah,” Dave looks back at his friend who's staring right back at you unwaveringly, looking just as surprised as you feel, “This is John. He's in my Biology class, and he's tutorin' me so I don't fail spectacularly.”  
  
You snap out of your daze before Dave starts to suspect something, and you don't miss the flush that blooms on John's cheeks when you break eye contact.  
  
“I'm not sure how I feel about this,” You drawl, “I think I'd rather you fail spectacularly on your own than have this John kid help you out and make you pass averagely.”  
  
“Fuck off, bro. Get us our coffees.”  
  
“What do y' want?”  
  
“Just a coffee. John?”  
  
The kid splutters a little, his flush darkening. He's a far cry from the guy you met before, all confidence and sultry looks. This kid looks like he's never seen a dick before in his life.  
  
“Uh,” He squeezes his eyes shut a second and inhales, “Uh, a-a latte. Please.”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
You hop up and go to fix their drinks. You figure since you're paying, you get to decide what size drinks they get. Jane offers them complimentary pastries, and you doubt she's actually going to make you pay for the coffees, either. You feel John's eyes following you as you move, and all the while you're doing calculations to try to ease your conscience.  
  
Dave's a senior—he's going to be eighteen in December—which means that John's also a senior if he's got Biology with Dave. So John will be eighteen sometime in the next year. Your transgression wasn't too bad, then. Not like you were fucking twelve year-olds.  
  
You finish up the coffees and drop them on the counter and Jane puts the bagged pastries alongside them.  
  
“Thanks, bro,” Dave says, grabbing his stuff and moving off to the right.  
  
John shuffles up to the counter, face burning, and mumbles a thank you before grabbing his stuff and quickly following Dave to the door. He runs out first while Dave stops and looks over his shoulder,  
  
“John's probably stayin' late tonight. He'll probably still be there when you get home.”  
  
“Alright, cool,” You say, waving him off, “Study hard and shit.”  
  
He shoots you a thumbs up and leaves, letting the door swing shut behind him. You watch him and John walk down the street, and you catch John's eye when he glances back at you. You're still staring out the window a minute after they're gone when Jane leans against the counter, hip cocked and eyebrow creeping toward her hairline.  
  
“What was that, Dirk?”  
  
“I know the kid,” You reply, “The one Dave was with? Yeah. I know him.”  
  
“With how red he turned, I'd say you don't just _know_ him.”  
  
“Okay, so I _might_ have slept with him.”  
  
 _“Dirk.”_  
  
Pain flairs in your shoulder where Jane slugged you, and she's looking at you like you grew a second head.  
  
“He's a _kid,”_ she says, voice an octave higher than usual, “He's _Dave's_ age, what were you thinking?”  
  
“I was _thinking_ that he was an underage kid wandering Roxy's bar and someone was going to fuck him regardless.”  
  
Her face scrunches, “Oh, don't you try to justify this. You should have sent him home.”  
  
“Not like that woulda helped. He woulda gone off and found another bar to crawl.”  
  
“Was he drunk?”  
  
“Fuck no,” You're actually a little offended at that, “I'm not a monster, Jane. He knew exactly what was happening and it was _completely_ consensual. He's also seventeen and fully aware of his fuckin' actions—s'not like I was takin' advantage.”  
  
She makes a frustrated noise and drags her fingers through her hair, stomping away from you and then back to cool her head. When she doesn't look like she's going to rip your head off, she releases a long, steady breath and looks at you again.  
  
“Fine,” She says, “It's already done, so I can't exactly change that. But if he decides to press charges I will certainly not be on your side. And now, you're his friends guardian and you are in a position of authority, and I swear to god, Dirk, if you lay a single hand on him-”  
  
“I won't, Jane,” You cut her off before she can start in on the threats because she can get pretty creative, “Honestly. It's not like I had any plans on it happening again, alright? Swear to Jesus.”  
  
She doesn't respond, just glowers at you a little longer then marches huffily back over to her station. She doesn't talk to you for the rest of your shift, and she doesn't bother to say goodbye when Feferi comes in to relieve you of your duties.  
  
And now you have to go home to your little brother and the kid you fucked in the bathroom of a bar.  
  
 _Fantastic._


End file.
